


not the same moon, that's impossible.

by of_dreamdust



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Asexual Castiel, But only a little, College!AU, F/F, Human Castiel, Literature, M/M, Pansexual Dean, Texting, ace!cas, but really it's just implied, dean is a lit major, dean only hooks up with cas, minor charlie/gilda - Freeform, pan!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-20 11:03:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4784960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/of_dreamdust/pseuds/of_dreamdust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"But, since Dean had two more weeks until deadline, he decided to start slowly. Which meant that he ended up watching the third season of Parks and Recreation on his laptop, lying in his bed with a bottle of beer and a bag of pumpkin seeds. Somewhere in the middle of Andy and April’s grocery shopping, his phone vibrated. "</p><p>or, one in which Dean flirts via Parks and Rec lines.</p>
            </blockquote>





	not the same moon, that's impossible.

**Author's Note:**

> so I was telling [MouseBouse](http://mousebouse.tumblr.com) how I keep sending bad puns to my mobile operator, and someone said "imagine your otp" and the point is, you should never tell me I can't do something.
> 
> Fellow aces (but also, everybody else), I'd be happy if you come to say hi on my [Tumblr](http://onehandfulofdreamdust.tumblr.com). :)
> 
> Thank you all for putting up with me! <3

The reason Dean took the card in the first place was the smoking hot girl that was handing them out on the city square.

She had longish brown hair and pretty eyes, and she smiled at him as he took the card from her.

“Hi!” she said cheerfully. “Here’s your card, and if you activate it right away, you get extra minutes on it. All you have to do is…”

Not that Dean really listened to her. He stuffed the card in his pocket and put on one of his most charming smiles.

“Yeah, that sounds great,” he said. “But does your number come with it, too?”

She raised one eyebrow and laughed. “It must be hard with your sense of direction.”

Dean frowned, and opened his mouth to say something, but she cut him off: “Never being able to find your way to a decent pick-up line.”

She turned around and left. Sam laughed his ass off.

“Shut up,” Dean muttered and pushed pass him.

Eventually, Dean forgot about it. He emptied his pockets and threw the card on the pile of other things on his alleged working desk, and his hurt ego healed fast enough.

 

The reason Dean started using the card was one particularly bad morning a few days later. He overslept his alarm and spilled a cup of hot coffee over his phone. Needless to say, the poor thing just miserably flashed and died.

Dean gave a frustrated sigh and started digging through a drawer to find his old phone. He then spotted the offending card on the desk, and grabbed it as he rushed out of his apartment. He opened it in the subway and put the SIM card into the old phone, thanking whoever had mercy on him in that moment when it started working.

He managed to get to his second class on time, but it was a truly boring one, so he started to read the instructions that came with the card. It was some new, cheap operator, and it was offering a bunch of cheap options to new users. Dean figured it wasn’t that bad at all and decided to activate one of those in which you got a bunch of free minutes, messages and internet for a ridiculously low price.

Dean figured that the company would either be bankrupt in a month, or the prices would go up. But he decided to use it for a while. His new phone was dead anyway, he didn’t have many options.

***

“…I’m just saying, it’s a stupid-, Dean. Dean, are you texting?” Charlie smacked his arm.

“I’m not texting,” he answered, trying to avoid the next punch.

She glared at him. “I can see you’re texting, Dean.”

“I’m really not,” he said, giving her the phone to look at it. “It’s that new number I have. I have to send a message to this number if I want to know how many more minutes I have.”

She looked at the screen and frowned. “It’s still rude.”

The phone beeped loudly.

“What’s with your old one?” Charlie asked, stuffing a chocolate bar in her mouth.

“Ash said he tried to fix it,” Dean replied, reading the answering message.

_You have 250 minutes, 498 messages, and 894 MB left._

“And you trust Ash?”

Dean sighed. “I don’t really have a choice.”

They sat in comfortable silence, Charlie chewing on the rest of the chocolate, and Dean watching the other students sleepily dragging their legs across the campus.

“So what do you write?” Charlie asked.

“Huh?” Dean raised his head to look at her.

Charlie pointed to the phone in his hand. “What do you write when you send the message?”

“Nothing. A question mark. That’s what the instructions said.” Dean shrugged.

Charlie raised one of her eyebrows. “So what happens if you send something else?”

Dean looked at the phone. “I don’t know. Nothing, I guess. It’s an automatic response, isn’t it?”

“Let’s check it though!” Charlie said taking the phone from his hand.

Dean just laughed and let her. Those messages were free anyway.

Charlie contemplated for a moment, and then started typing. Dean read over her shoulder as she did.

_What do trees and dogs have in common? Bark!_

The pun was so terrible he had to laugh. Charlie hit send and continued staring at the phone.

The message came a few minutes later. _You have 250 minutes, 498 messages, and 894 MB left._

Dean didn’t want to admit he felt kind of disappointed. They both shrugged and continued sitting in silence.

***

There was some party that night. Dean knew because Charlie had been bugging him the entire Friday to go with her. But Dean knew she just wanted to go because of some cute girl from one of her classes and he had no intention of being the third wheel for the entire night.

Besides, they were given an essay about Vonnegut, and he was planning on acing that one.

“You’re such a dick,” Charlie said over the phone. “Next time you try to get laid, _I’ll_ be the one ignoring _you_.”

Dean chuckled. “Whatever you say, Charlie.”

Charlie then said something really obscene and hung up on him. Dean just smiled. He knew Charlie wasn’t really pissed at him, and he would just be in her way. She was honestly better off on her own.

But, since Dean had two more weeks until deadline, he decided to start slowly. Which meant that he ended up watching the third season of Parks and Recreation on his laptop, lying in his bed with a bottle of beer and a bag of pumpkin seeds.

Somewhere in the middle of Andy and April’s grocery shopping, his phone vibrated. He paused the episode and checked to see a text from Charlie.

_Dude, I’m so smooth, you should totally be here. :)_

Dean laughed. He wiped his hands on his shirt and texted her back. _Get ‘em, girl. ;)_

He took a sip of his beer and, even though he was pretty sure he still had plenty of minutes, he opened the message to find out how much exactly he had left.

He read the last pun Charlie sent, and chuckled again. He paused for a minute, and decided, why not? Just because nobody read those, didn’t mean he shouldn’t have fun.

 _you’re like angel with no wings_ , he wrote and pressed send.

He got back to the episode when the phone vibrated again. This time he waited for the episode to end until he checked it out. He sat up in his bed and opened the text.

_You have 239 minutes, 452 messages, and 758 MB left. So like, a person?_

Dean blinked. No, he didn’t read it correctly. It was his sleep-deprived brain playing games with him. Or he just spent too much time watching the show.

Dean shook his head. He shut down the laptop and went to sleep.

***

The problem was, the message was still the same when he woke up.

And it shouldn’t have been. It was an automatic response, right? Computers were sending those messages, not real people.

And if it was Charlie playing tricks on him… Well, that was just a bit stretched. Especially if he considered the fact that the last text he got from her was rather incoherent sentence about getting into the cute girl’s pants.

So the only logical thing was to send one more message.

 _the calzones… betrayed me?_ he wrote.

Dean kept staring at his phone for what felt like forever. Finally, the phone vibrated.

_You have 239 minutes, 450 messages, and 758 MB left._

Dean just sighed and got up to make himself a cup of coffee.

***

The cute girl’s name was Gilda and Charlie wouldn’t stop texting her for the entire Monday.

“Dude, come on,” Dean complained around a bite of burger.

It was 7 p.m. and they were sitting in some cheap diner just off the campus.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Charlie said, but she was smiling and that meant she was not sorry at all. “But if you had eyes as beautiful as hers, you would be the center of attention now.”

“My eyes are beautiful too,” Dean did _not_ pout. “Your problem with me is that I don’t have tits.”

Charlie gave him a reluctant nod. “Yeah, okay, point.” She put the phone down and took her own burger. “But I wouldn’t be into you even if I weren’t gay.”

“Why not?” Dean frowned. “I’m a perfectly fine guy.” He bit his burger and Charlie gave him a look.

“Right.” She clicked her tongue and took a sip of her juice. “I guess that it’s just that we’ve been friends for so long.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Okay, point. I’m not into you and I’m into everyone.”

“Hey!” Charlie muttered around a mouthful of burger.

Dean chuckled.

Charlie’s phone vibrated next to her. She threw a glance at it, but ignored it. Just a few seconds later, it vibrated again. Dean could see her fingers fidgeting.

He sighed. “Fine.”

“Hmm?” Charlie looked up at him.

He gestured toward the flashing phone. “Answer her.”

Charlie shook her head. “No, this is our tradition, and I will not put anyone before it.”

The phone vibrated again. Dean threw her a look.

Charlie smiled at him guiltily. “I will make up to you, I swear.” She took the phone in her hands and started texting back.

Dean just sighed and continued chewing on his fries. He looked up and around the small diner. There weren’t many people there except him and Charlie. A young waitress who seemed to still be in high school, one teenage couple, and two more girls down in the corner. Nothing to keep Dean’s attention for too long.

He sank into his seat, still chewing on his food, and watched as Charlie texted on. He took his own phone out and, seeing as he had nothing better to do, sent a text to his operator.

 _ovaries before brovaries_ , he wrote ironically.

The door of diner opened and a tall, dark haired man walked in. Dean automatically perked up.

The man was about their age. He was wearing dark jeans and an oversized trenchcoat. His hair was all up and ruffled like he had just rolled out of bed, and Dean couldn’t help but notice that even under that offending coat he looked quite nice.

The man walked to the young waitress behind the stand and asked her something. Dean couldn’t understand what, but he heard a deep voice, and yep, he was hooked.

And so was waitress, it seemed. She gave him the most brilliant smile as she disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a to-go bag.

The man smiled at her, gave her a few bills and quickly left the diner. Both Dean and the waitress watched him leave.

The phone in his hand vibrated and Dean looked down at it.

_You have 232 minutes, 449 messages, and 698 MB left._

***

A few days later, Dean was spending his evening bent over the incredibly boring book about theory of literature. If he had known just how much theory there would actually be, he would never have signed up to be an English major. He knew that there would be a short quiz tomorrow (the professor hadn’t exactly kept it a secret), and frankly, Dean knew how all of that worked, but it was so frustrating to study complicated definitions for things he knew by heart.

Give Dean a book and he would write you an entire essay about its meaning. But give Dean the definition of alliteration, and he would struggle to remember it.

He grabbed his phone, and wrote: _you want to get super drunk?_

And because he couldn’t send it to Charlie, because she would totally show up with a bottle of tequila, he sent it to his mobile operator. It had nothing to do with the strange answer from Saturday night, no sir. No chance at all.

Dean sighed. He was becoming pathetic, he knew that. But it was bothering him, it really was. Why would someone take time to answer a line from a TV show? A really good line from a really great TV show, but nevertheless. He didn’t expect for something like that to happen again. But if he hoped for it, who could blame him?

The phone vibrated and Dean grabbed for it a bit too violently.

_You have 222 minutes, 441 messages, and 608 MB left. I really do._

Dean blinked. Okay, that was not a coincidence whatsoever.

He quickly typed another one. _you can’t make art because you are art._

He put the phone away, but continued staring at it.

_You have 222 minutes, 441 messages, and 608 MB left. You’re beautiful. This sucks._

Dean laughed out loud. He didn’t know how this is working, he didn’t know who the person texting him was, but he couldn’t help but feel glee.

 _someone will die_ , he wrote because that was the only one that came to mind.

_You have 222 minutes, 441 messages, and 608 MB left. I really hope that is still a Parks and Rec line._

Dean laughed again. He hurried to answer.

_it honestly was. hey, is that one person texting me?_

The phone vibrated again. _You have 222 minutes, 441 messages, and 608 MB left. I’d like to think so, yes._

Dean smiled. _huh but why would you bother answering me?_

_You have 222 minutes, 441 messages, and 608 MB left. Because the graveyard shift is incredibly uneventful. Is that weird?_

Dean stopped to think about it. It probably was. _i don’t mind_ , he wrote.

_You have 222 minutes, 441 messages, and 608 MB left. I’m glad._

Dean smiled again. But then he looked down at his desk again and groaned.

 _i gotta go study now. talk to you sometime soon?_ , he wrote and waited nervously.

_You have 222 minutes, 441 messages, and 608 MB left. Sounds great. Good luck!_

Dean fist bumped the air. He knew he was being ridiculous, but he couldn’t stop smiling.

***

The next Saturday night, Dean found himself actually writing his essay, not any less frustrated. He really wanted to ace that exam, Vonnegut was honestly one of his favorite authors, but he just couldn’t find the right words.

This had to be the first time that happened to Dean; he had bullshitted better essays about authors he hadn’t even known before, but when it came to the author he knew every little thing about, he just couldn’t write a single meaningful sentence.

He grabbed his phone without thinking, and wrote: _How nice – to feel nothing, and still get full credit for being alive._

He didn’t have to wait long before the message arrived.

_You have 198 minutes, 436 messages, and 534 MB left. Vonnegut?_

Dean’s lips were pulled into a smile. _Vonnegut indeed. you a fan?_

_You have 198 minutes, 436 messages, and 534 MB left. Not really. Are you okay?_

Dean smiled even more. _i’m super. writing an essay about him. he’s my favorite._

_You have 198 minutes, 436 messages, and 534 MB left. Really? And how’s it going?_

Dean frowned. _not so good, honestly._

_You have 198 minutes, 436 messages, and 534 MB left. I’m sorry to hear that, but I’m not gonna be of much help. I’m a medical student._

Dean raised an eyebrow. _oh shit man. i’m a lit major. i don’t think we can be friends anymore._

_You have 198 minutes, 436 messages, and 534 MB left. I will have to agree. Punk ass book jockeys!_

Dean laughed again. _my name is dean, btw._

_You have 198 minutes, 436 messages, and 534 MB left. I’m Castiel._

***

**_it’s just like driving half a car._ **

_You have 183 minutes, 421 messages, and 497 MB left. Hello Dean._

**_hi cas. what about steinback?_ **

_You have 183 minutes, 421 messages, and 497 MB left. What about him?_

**_you like him?_ **

_You have 183 minutes, 421 messages, and 497 MB left. I prefer him over Vonnegut, yes. But not my favorite._

**_who is then? your favorite?_ **

_You have 183 minutes, 421 messages, and 497 MB left. That’s a hard question. Give me a minute._

**_you thought about it yet?_ **

_You have 183 minutes, 421 messages, and 497 MB left. I’ll get back to you on that._

***

**_something’s come to my attention that requires your attention._ **

_You have 178 minutes, 416 messages, and 472 MB left. What is that?_

**_that’s from the first season._ **

_You have 178 minutes, 416 messages, and 472 MB left. Oh, sorry. I didn’t get that._

**_it’s okay. how are you, cas?_ **

_You have 178 minutes, 416 messages, and 472 MB left. Bored. Studying for my exam._

**_oh i won’t bother you then. break a leg._ **

_You have 178 minutes, 416 messages, and 472 MB left. Thank you._

***

**_no, i didn’t win. but at least i didn’t make any new friendships._ **

_You have 152 minutes, 386 messages, and 392 MB left. Hello Dean._

**_i got my essay back today. i aced it!! how bout your exam?_ **

_You have 152 minutes, 386 messages, and 392 MB left. Congrats! :) We didn’t get it back yet, but I know I aced it either way._

**_wow, you’re confident._ **

_You have 152 minutes, 386 messages, and 392 MB left. Not really. It was really difficult._

**_no, that was a compliment._ **

_You have 152 minutes, 386 messages, and 392 MB left. And that was a pun._

**_...i’m confused now._ **

_You have 152 minutes, 386 messages, and 392 MB left. I’m ace, Dean. As in, asexual._

**_oh. okay._ **

_You have 152 minutes, 386 messages, and 392 MB left. You have no idea what that is, do you?_

**_not really, no. but i’ll look into it._ **

_You have 152 minutes, 386 messages, and 392 MB left. You should._

***

**_pawnee is the opposite of hip._ **

_You have 149 minutes, 376 messages, and 335 MB left. Hello Dean._

**_what about music? you like classic rock?_ **

_You have 149 minutes, 376 messages, and 335 MB left. Yes, I think I do._

**_you think?_ **

_You have 149 minutes, 376 messages, and 335 MB left. Well, it’s not exactly my first choice but I love some classic bands._

**_bands like?_ **

_You have 149 minutes, 376 messages, and 335 MB left. I don’t know. Blind Faith. Led Zeppelin. Metallica._

**_oh dude, that’s awesome._ **

_You have 149 minutes, 376 messages, and 335 MB left. What about you?_

**_i'm practically in love with those._ **

_You have 149 minutes, 376 messages, and 335 MB left. That’s great. :)_

***

**_veganism is a sad result of a morally corrupted mind._ **

_You have 133 minutes, 228 messages, and 172 MB left. Reconsider your life._

**_okay you’re not a vegan then. that’s great._ **

_You have 133 minutes, 228 messages, and 172 MB left. Is it?_

**_yeah. that means i can take for the best burgers in town on our first date._ **

_You have 133 minutes, 228 messages, and 172 MB left. Is that a promise?_

**_totally._ **

_You have 133 minutes, 228 messages, and 172 MB left. Good._

***

It took two and a half weeks for Dean to admit everything to Charlie, while they were drinking beer one Thursday night.

“Dude, are you serious?” she said, staring at him.

Dean shrugged. “Well, it was fun in the beginning, and then… Hell, I don’t know Charlie. I just like talking to them.”

“Them?” she repeated, raising an eyebrow.

Dean took a sip of his beer. “I don’t know if they’re a girl or a guy.”

“You didn’t ask?”

Dean shrugged again. “There’s never really a good moment to ask someone what their gender is.”

Charlie shook her head. “Well, forget their gender. You don’t know anything about them. How are they even writing you that? What if that’s just someone pranking you?”

Dean winced. That thought had crossed his mind, yes. “Well, I don’t know, Charlie. What do you think I should do?”

Charlie fell silent, sipping on her beer. She spoke again after a few minutes. “Well, I would say that the smartest thing is to just stop.”

Dean already opened his mouth to complain, but she cut him off. “But, since I know you won’t do that, I would ask them for their number. I mean, you don’t even know if they live here.”

“I do know that,” Dean replied. “It came up in a conversation.”

Charlie rolled her eyes. “Whatever, Dean. I’m just telling you what I think you should do. When that person finds you and makes a jacket out of your skin, I will be standing on your grave, yelling ‘I told you so’.”

Dean rolled his eyes. But he was thinking about it, yes.

***

**_hey cas?_ **

_You have 133 minutes, 206 messages, and 152 MB left. Yes Dean?_

**_are you allowed to do this? to answer my messages?_ **

_You have 133 minutes, 228 messages, and 172 MB left. No, not really._

**_oh, cas, you beautiful, rule-breaking moth. ;)_ **

_You have 133 minutes, 228 messages, and 172 MB left. Thank you, Dean. I’m sure you’re beautiful too. ;)_

**_cas? do you have your own number?_ **

_You have 133 minutes, 228 messages, and 172 MB left. Yes, of course I do. Why?_

**_well, can i get it? i mean, i would like to talk to you without all those numbers, you know?_ **

_You have 133 minutes, 228 messages, and 172 MB left._

**_cas?_ **

_You have 133 minutes, 228 messages, and 172 MB left._

***

“I asked them for their number,” Dean said as Charlie let him in her apartment.

Charlie threw one look at him. “And it didn’t go as planned?”

Dean threw himself on her couch, grabbing the bowl of popcorn from the table. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Charlie just sighed and sat next to him.

***

It was almost a week later when Dean’s phone vibrated. He was in class, so he didn’t look at it immediately. Charlie never texted him when she knew he had class, and if it was an emergency, she would call.

So Dean only took his phone out when he was already on his way home. There was indeed one new text from an unknown number. Dean opened it.

 _Hello Dean_ , it said. _I’m sorry I didn’t text you sooner. I have no valid excuse, I just… I panicked I guess. But I would love to talk to you some more if you want to. I rather enjoy talking to you. – Cas_

Dean was still pissed, sure. He was still a little bit hurt. But he couldn’t help a smile that broke on his lips.

***

 ** _i'd still like to take you out for that burger, you know?_** , Dean wrote a few weeks later.

_I’m flattered, Dean, but you don’t even know what I look like._

**_well, that’s kinda the point of that date._ **

_You don’t know if I’m a girl._

**_who said i'm interested in girls?_ **

_You’re not?_

**_well, i am. but i’m interested in guys, too._ **

**_so, you wanna go out with me?_ **

***

“I still think you’re crazy,” Charlie informed him from the couch, where she was lying and watching Dean getting ready for his blind date.

“You still think Cas is a serial killer,” Dean answered, not amused.

She shrugged. “Can you prove me wrong?”

“You can’t even prove Gilda isn’t a serial killer.”

Charlie raised one eyebrow. “No one can have that face and be a serial killer, Dean. Come on.”

Dean rolled his eyes as he turned to fix his hair in the mirror. “I expected more from you, Charlie. At least you’re all about technology and Internet and blogs and stuff.”

“I am. That’s the exact reason I also know what kind of creeps there are.”

Dean waved his hand at her. “You just won’t admit you worry.”

Charlie crossed her arms over her chest. “Well, sue me.” She sighed. “Look Dean, I’m glad that you found someone. And I see you’re head over heels for this guy.”

Dean opened his mouth to say something.

“That’s a compliment, you ass,” she interrupted him. “But I also don’t want to see you hurt.”

Dean reached and pulled her in for a hug. “I appreciate that, Charlie. I just, really like him. I don’t- I don’t care how he looks or anything. Hell, we can just stay writing buddies. I just want to meet him.”

“I know,” she said, nodding against him. “I love you.”

Dean smiled into her hair. “I know.”

***

Dean was sitting in the same diner he and Charlie visited every Monday. And he was a nervous wreck.

He and Cas had decided on that diner because they both knew about it. Dean was wearing a green shirt and Cas was supposed to wear a blue tie.

Dean was fidgeting with his hands, not sure what to do with them. He obviously came first, because there were just a couple of teenagers in the corner, and a young waitress who looked bored to hell.

Of all things Charlie was worrying about – Cas being a killer, or just a really ugly looking old man – Dean was most concerned with the fact that Cas might not like _him_.

They talked a lot, yes – especially since Cas had given him his own number – but there’s a significant difference between texting someone and meeting them in person.

Dean’s thoughts were interrupted when the man in the trenchcoat entered the diner. He and Charlie had been seeing him there every Friday, and Charlie had even tried to convince Dean to talk to the stranger. But honestly, the guy was too good-looking, and he only ever just ordered a go-to burger and left.

But this time, the guy stopped half-way to the stand and looked around the diner.

His eyes landed on Dean, and he- he smiled.

 _No, no, no_ , Dean thought as the trenchcoat guy started walking towards him. A hot guy _cannot_ start hitting on him the same night he’s meeting a guy who may or may not be his soulmate.

Dean was about to say something to the approaching man, something like he’s waiting for someone, when the man’s mouth opened to say Dean’s name.

Dean stopped in his tracks, and smartly opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water. His eyes travelled down the man’s trenchcoat, only to stop on the blue tie around his neck.

This time when he opened his mouth, he managed to say a quiet: “Cas?”

The trenchcoat man’s eyes lit up as he took a seat across from Dean. “Oh god, for I moment I thought it’s not you.” He smiled, and every coherent sentence Dean had prepared flew right out of his brain.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” the man – Cas – said, reaching his hand across the table.

When Dean’s brain didn’t work fast enough for him to take the offering hand, Castiel’s smile quivered.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his cheeks burning pink as he pulled his hand back.

“No, no!” Dean said loudly as he realized what had just happened. “Fuck, I’m sorry.” He pushed his hand through his hair. “It’s just- I’ve been seeing you here every Monday.”

Castiel’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh,” he said silently.

“I- I didn’t know you’re, well, you,” Dean continued, shaking his head. “What a small world, huh?”

Castiel smiled shyly again. “Small world indeed.”

Dean smiled at him, because his brain was only now catching up. “I’m sorry, I didn’t-,” He reached his hand across the table. “It’s really nice to finally meet you in person, Cas.”

Castiel took his hand and shook it, smiling brightly now.

The waitress came to take their orders, and both of them were willing to admit it was awkward at first. But soon enough, the conversation started to just flow, and they talked – they finally talked face to face – until the diner started to close.

Dean offered to walk Castiel back to his apartment, and he couldn’t stop smiling, because this was Cas – he was finally here, and Dean felt like he had known him forever.

“So I did- I did some research,” Dean admitted in front of Castiel’s building.

Castiel gave him a confused look.

“About what you told me,” Dean explained. “About… asexuality.”

“Oh,” Castiel let out. “And?”

Dean shrugged. “I think I know a lot about it now.”

There was a minute of uncomfortable silence.

“Do you-,” Castiel started.

“I’d like to kiss you know,” Dean interrupted him.

Castiel’s smile was full of relief. “I’d like that too.”

***

 ** _so, he’s not a serial killer_** , Dean texted Charlie as he walked back home.

 _are you absolutely sure? :P_ was Charlie’s answer.

 ** _yeah_** , Dean wrote. **_no one can kiss that good and be a serial killer. :)_**


End file.
